5IF Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,!

6Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,

7The appetite may sicken, and so dye.

8That straine agen, it had a dying fall:

9O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound

10That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;

11Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,

12'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.

13O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,

14That notwithstanding thy capacitie,

15Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,

16Of what validity, and pitch so ere,

17But falles into abatement, and low price

18Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,

19That it alone, is high fantasticall.

20Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord?

21Du. What Curio?

22Cu. The Hart.

23Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:

24O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,

25Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;

26That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,

27And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,

28Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her?

30Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,

31But from her handmaid do returne this answer:

32The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,

33Shall not behold her face at ample view:

34But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,

35And water once a day her Chamber round

36With eye-offending brine: all this to season

37A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh

38And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

39Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame

40To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,

41How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft

42Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else

43That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,

44These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd

45Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:

46Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,

47Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.

51Vio. What Country (Friends) is this?

52Cap. This is Illyria Ladie.

53Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?

54My brother he is in Elizium,

55Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?

56Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued.

57Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be.

58Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,

59Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,

60When you, and those poore number saued with you,

61Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother

62Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,

63(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)

64To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:

65Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,

66I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,

67So long as I could see.

68Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:

69Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,

70Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie

71The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?

72Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne

73Not three houres trauaile from this very place:

74Vio. Who gouernes heere?

75Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name.

76Vio. What is his name?

77Cap. Orsino.

78Vio, Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.

79He was a Batchellor then.

80Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:

81For but a month ago I went from hence,

82And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know

83What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)

84That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia.

85Vio. What's shee?

86Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count

87That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her

88In the protection of his sonne, her brother,

89Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue

90(They say) she hath abiur'd the sight

91And company of men.

92Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,

93And might not be deliuered to the world

256 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

94Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow

95What my estate is.

96Cap. That were hard to compasse,

97Because she will admit no kinde of suite,

98No, not the Dukes.

99Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,

100And though that nature, with a beauteous wall

101Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee

102I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites

103With this thy faire and outward charracter.

104I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)

105Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,

106For such disguise as haply shall become

107The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,

108Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,

109It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,

110And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,

111That will allow me very worth his seruice.

112What else may hap, to time I will commit,

113Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit.

114Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,

115When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

116Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on. Exeunt

119Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the

120death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to

121life.

122Mar. By my troth sir Toby you must come in earlyer

123a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions

124to your ill houres.

125To. Why let her except, before excepted.

126Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the

127modest limits of order.

128To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:

129these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee

130these boots too: and they be not, let them hang them-

131selues in their owne straps.

132Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I

133heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish

134knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer

135To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?

136Ma. I he.

137To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

138Ma. What's that to th'purpose?

139To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare.

140Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:

141He's a very foole, and a prodigall.

142To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gan-

143boys, and speaks three or four languages word for word

144without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature.

145Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that

146he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath

147the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrel-

148ling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely

149haue the gift of a graue.

150Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substra-

151ctors that say so of him. Who are they?

152Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly

153in your company.

154To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke

155to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke

156in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not

157drinke to my Neece. till his braines turne o'th toe, like a

158parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo : for here coms

159Sir Andrew Agueface.

161And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?

162To. Sweet sir Andrew.

163And. Blesse you faire Shrew.

164Mar. And you too sir.

165Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost.

166And. What's that?

167To. My Neeces Chamber-maid.

168Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance

169Ma. My name is Mary sir.

170And. Good mistris Mary, accost.

171To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord

172her, woe her, assayle her.

173And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this

174company. Is that the meaning of Accost?

175Ma. Far you well Gentlemen.

176To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou

177mightst neuer draw sword agen.

178And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer

179draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue

180fooles in hand?

181Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand.

182An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand.

183Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your

184hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke.

185An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Meta-

186phor?

187Ma. It's dry sir.

188And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I

189can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?

190Ma. A dry iest Sir.

191And. Are you full of them?

192Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now

193I let go your hand, I am barren. Exit Maria

194To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did

195I see thee so put downe?

196An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Ca-

197narie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no

198more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I

199am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme

200to my wit.

201To. No question.

202An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride

203home to morrow sir Toby.

204To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?

205An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had

206bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing

207dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the

208Arts.

209To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire.

210An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?

211To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my (nature

212An. But it becoms we wel enough, dost not?

213To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope

214to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off.

215An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby , your niece wil

216not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:

217the Connt himselfe here hard by, wooes her.

218To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir

219degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her

220swear t. Tut there's life in't man.

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 257

221And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th

222strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Re-

223uels sometimes altogether.

224To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?

225And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder

226the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with

227an old man.

228To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

229And. Faith, I can cut a caper.

230To. And I can cut the Mutton too't.

231And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as

232strong as any man in Illyria.

233To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue

234these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take

235dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe

236to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?

237My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much

238as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou

239meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by

240the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vn-

241der the starre of a Galliard.

242And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a

243dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?

244To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder

245Taurus?

246And. Taurus? That sides and heart.

247To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee ca-

248per. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent. Exeunt

251Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you

252Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known

253you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger.

254Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,

255that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is

256he inconstant sir, in his fauours. Val. No beleeue me.

258Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count.

259Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?

260Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere.

261Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,

262Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd

263To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.

264Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,

265Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,

266And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow

267Till thou haue audience.

268Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,

269If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

270As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me.

271Du, Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,

272Rather then make vnprofited returne,

273Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?

274Du. O then, vnfold the passi}on of my loue,

275Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;

276It shall become thee well to act my woes:

277She will attend it better in thy youth,

278Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect.

279Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord.

280Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;

281For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,

282That say thou art a man: Dianas lip

283Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe

284Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,

285And all is semblatiue a womans part.

286I know thy constellation is right apt

287For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,

288All if you will: for I my selfe am best

289When least in companie: prosper well in this,

290And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,

291To call his fortunes thine.

292Vio. Ile do my best

293To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,

294Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife. Exeunt.

297Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will

298not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way

299of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence.

300Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this

301world, needs to feare no colours.

302Ma. Make that good.

303Clo. He shall see none to feare.

304Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y^t

305saying was borne, of I feare no colours.

306Clo. Where good mistris Mary?

307Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in

308your foolerie.

309Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &

310those that are fooles, let them vse their talents.

311Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,

312or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to

313you?

314Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:

315and for turning away, let summer beare it out.

316Ma. You are resolute then?

317Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points

318Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both

319breake, your gaskins fall.

320Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if

321sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece

322of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria.

323Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my

324Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.

326Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:

327those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue

328fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a

329wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,

330then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady.

331Ol. Take the foole away.

332Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie.

333Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: be-

334sides you grow dis-honest.

335Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell

336wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole

337not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,

338he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher

339mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu

340that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that a-

341mends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple

342Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, vvhat remedy?

Y3 As

258 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

343As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a

344flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I

345say againe, take her away.

346Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you.

347Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus

348non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not

349motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to

350proue you a foole.

351Ol. Can you do it?

352Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona.

353Ol. Make your proofe.

354Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my

355Mouse of vertue answer mee.

356Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your

357proofe.

358Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?

359Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death.

360Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona.

361Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole.

362Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your

363Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,

364Gentlemen.

365Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he

366not mend?

367Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake

368him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the

369better foole.

370Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the

371better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that

372I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence

373that you are no Foole.

374Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?

375Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such

376a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with

377an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.

378Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you

379laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest

380I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of

381fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies.

382Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste

383with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guitlesse,

384and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-

385bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slan-

386der in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;

387nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do

388nothing but reproue.

389Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou

390speak'st well of fooles.

392Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentle-

393man, much desires to speake with you.

394Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?

395Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and

396well attended.

397Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay:

398Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman.

399Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but

400madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit

401from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you

402will, to dismisse it. Exit Maluo.

403Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & peo-

404ple dislike it.

405Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest

406sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with

407braines, for heere he comes. Enter Sir Toby.

408One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater.

409Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the

410gate Cosin?

411To. A Gentleman.

412Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?

413To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle

414herring: How now Sot.

415Clo. Good Sir Toby.

416Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by

417this Lethargie?

418To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the

419gate.

420Ol. I marry, what is he?

421To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue

422me faith say I. Well, it's all one. Exit

423Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?

424Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:

425One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second

426maddes him, and a third drownes him.

427Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte

428o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's

429drown'd: go looke after him.

430Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall

431looke to the madman.

433Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will

434speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on

435him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak

436with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue

437a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to

438speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's

439fortified against any deniall.

440Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me.

441Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayos hee'l stand at

442your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to

443a bench, but hee'l speake with you.

444Ol. What kinde o'man is he?

445Mal. Why of mankinde.

446Ol. What manner of man?

447Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will

448you, or no.

449Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?

450Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough

451for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling

452when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing wa-

453ter, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,

454and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his

455mothers milke were scarse out of him.

456Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman.'

457Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles. Exit.

459Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,

460Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.

462Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?

463Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will.

464Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beau-

465tie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,

466for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my

467speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue

468taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee su-

469staine no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least

470sinister vsage.

471Ol. Whence came you sir?

472Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that

473question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee

474modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 259

475may proceede in my speech.

476Ol. Are you a Comedian?

477Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie

478phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you

479the Ladie of the house?

480Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am.

481Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your

482selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to re-

483serue. But this is from my Commission: I will on with

484my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of

485my message.

486Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you

487the praise.

488Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis

489Poeticall.

490Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep

491it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your

492approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If

493you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:

494'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so

495skipping a dialogue.

496Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way.

497Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little lon-

498ger. Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;

499tell me your minde, I am a messenger.

500Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,

501when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office.

502Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouer-

503ture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe

504in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter.

505Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?

506What would you?

507Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I

508learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I

509would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Di-

510uinity; to any others, prophanation.

511Ol. Giue vs the place alone,

512We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?

513Vio. Most sweet Ladie.

514Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide

515of it. Where lies your Text?

516Vio. In Orsinoes bosome.

517Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?

518Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart.

519Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more

520to say?

521Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face.

522Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to

523negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:

524but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.

525Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well

526done?

527Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

528Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and wea-

529ther.

530Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,

531Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:

532Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,

533If you will leade these graces to the graue,

534And leaue the world no copie.

535Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue

536out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried

537and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,

538Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,

539with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.

540Were you sent hither to praise me?

541Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:

542But if you were the diuell, you are faire:

543My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue

544Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd

545The non-pareil of beautie.

546Ol. How does he loue me?

547Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,

548With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire.

549Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him

550Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,

551Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;

552In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,

553And in dimension, and the shape of nature,

554A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:

555He might haue tooke his answer long ago.

556Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,

557With such a suffring, such a deadly life:

558In your deniall, I would finde no sence,

559I would not vnderstand it.

560Ol. Why, what would you?

561Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,

562And call vpon my soule within the house,

563Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,

564And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:

565Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,

566And make the babling Gossip of the aire,

567Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest

568Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,

569But you should pittie me.

570Ol. You might do much:

571What is your Parentage?

572Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:

573I am a Gentleman.

574Ol. Get you to your Lord:

575I cannot loue him: let him send no more,

576Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,

577To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:

578I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee.

579Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,

580My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.

581Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,

582And let your feruour like my masters be,

583Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. Exit

584Ol. What is your Parentage?

585Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;

586I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,

587Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,

588Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,

589Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?

590Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?

591Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections

592With an inuisible, and subtle stealth

593To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.

594What hoa, Maluolio.

596Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice.

597Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger

598The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him

599Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.

600Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,

601Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:

602If that the youth will come this way to morrow,

603Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio.

604Mal. Madam, I will. Exit.

605Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde

606Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:

260Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

607Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,

608What is decreed, must be: and be this so.

612Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that

613I go with you.

614Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely

615ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps di-

616stemper yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,

617that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recom-

618pence for your loue, to lay any of them on you.

619An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

620Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere

621extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch

622of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am

623willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,

624the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee

625then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodo-

626rigo) my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I

627know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,

628and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heanens had

629beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, al-

630ter'd that, for some houre before you tooke me from the

631breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.

632Ant. Alas the day.

633Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resem-

634bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh

635I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre be-

636leeue that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee

637bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is

638drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to

639drowne her remembrance againe with more.

640Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment.

641Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble.

642Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee

643be your seruant.

644Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is

645kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare

646ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I

647am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the

648least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am

649bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell. Exit

650Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:

651I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,

652Else would I very shortly see thee there:

653But come what may, I do adore thee so,

654That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go. Exit.

657Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse O-

658liuia?

659Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since a-

660riu'd but hither.

661Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might

662haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your

663selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord

664into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one

665thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe

666in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking

667of this: receiue it so.

668Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it.

669Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and

670her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stoo-

671ping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that

672findes it. Exit.

673Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?

674Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:

675She made good view of me, indeed so much,

676That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,

677For she did speake in starts distractedly.

678She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion

679Inuites me in this churlish messenger:

680None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;

681I am the man, if it be so, as tis,

682Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:

683Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,

684Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.

685How easie is it, for the proper false

686In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:

687Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,

688For such as we are made, if such we bee:

689How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,

690And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:

691And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:

692What will become of this? As I am man,

693My state is desperate for my maisters loue:

694As I am woman (now alas the day)

695What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?

696O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,

697It is too hard a knot for me t'vnty.

700To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after

701midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou

702know'st.

703And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to

704be vp late, is to be vp late.

705To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.

706To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:

707so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed be-

708times. Does not our liues consist of the foure Ele-

709ments?

710And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists

711of eating and drinking.

712To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke.

713Marian I say, a stoope of wine.

715And. Heere comes the foole yfaith.

716Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Pic-

717ture of we three?

718To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch.

719And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I

720had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so

721sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast

722in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of

723Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of

724Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 261

725for thy Lemon, hadst it?

726Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose

727is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the

728Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses.

729An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when

730all is done. Now a song.

731To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue

732a song.

733An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a

734Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good

735life?

736To. A loue song, a loue song.

737An. I, I. I care not for good life.

745An. Excellent good, ifaith.

746To. Good, good.

753An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight.

754To. A contagious breath.

755An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith.

756To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.

757But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee

758rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three

759soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?

760And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a

761Catch.

762Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well.

763An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue.

764Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be con-

765strain'd in't, to call thee knaue, Knight.

766An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to

767call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace.

768Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace.

769An. Good ifaith: Come begin. Catch sung

771Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If

772my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and

773bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me.

774To, My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios

775a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I

776consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. La-

777die, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady.

778Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling.

779An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so

780do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more

781naturall.

782To. O the twelfe day of December.

783Mar. For the loue o'God peace.

785Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?

786Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble

787like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Ale-

788house of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Cozi-

789ers Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?

790Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?

791To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke v p.

792Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady

793bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kins-

794man, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can

795separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are wel-

796come to the house: if not, and it would please you to take

797leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

798To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone.

799Mar. Nay good Sir Toby.

800Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done.

801Mal. Is't euen so?

802To. But I will neuer dye.

803Clo. Sir Toby there you lye.

804Mal. This is much credit to you.

805To. Shall I bid him go.

806Clo. What and if you do?

807To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?

808Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

809To. Out o'tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Stew-

810ard? Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there

811shall be no more Cakes and Ale?

812Clo. Yes by S. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th

813mouth too.

814To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with

815crums. A stope of Wine Maria.

816Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour

817at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue

818meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this

819hand. Exit

820Mar. Go shake your eares.

821An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans

822a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake

823promise with him, and make a foole of him.

824To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile

825deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

826Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since

827the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is

828much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone

829with him: If I do not gull him into an ayword, and make

830him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte e-

831nough to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it.

832To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him.

833Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane.

834An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge.

835To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,

836deere knight.

837An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason

838good enough.

839Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing

840constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that

841cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.

842The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)

843with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all

844that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will

845my reuenge finde notable cause to worke.

846To. What wilt thou do?

847Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of

848loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his

849legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,

850forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most

851feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie

852your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make

853distinction of our hands.

854To. Excellent, I smell a deuice.

855An. I hau't in my nose too.

856To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop

262 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

857that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue

858with him.

859Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.

860An. And your horse now would make him an Asse.

861Mar. Asse, I doubt not.

862An. O twill be admirable.

863Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Phy-

864sicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let

865the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:

866obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and

867dreame on the euent: Farewell. Exit

868To. Good night Penthisilea.

869An. Before me she's a good wench.

870To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:

871what o'that?

872An. I was ador'd once too.

873To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for

874more money.

875An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way

876out.

877To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th

878end, call me Cut.

879An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will.

880To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late

881to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight. Exeunt

884Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.

885Now good Cesario , but that peece of song,

886That old and Anticke song we heard last night;

887Me thought it did releeue my passion much,

888More then light ayres, and recollected termes

889Of these most briske and giddy-paced times.

890Come, but one verse.

891Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that

892should sing it?

893Du. Who was it?

894Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie

895Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the

896house.

897Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

899Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue

900In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:

901For such as I am, all true Louers are,

902Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,

903Saue in the constant image of the creature

904That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?

905Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate

906Where loue is thron'd.

907Du. Thou dost speake masterly,

908My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye

909Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:

910Hath it not boy?

911Vio. A little, by your fauour.

912Du. What kinde of woman ist?

913Vio. Of your complection.

914Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?

915Vio. About your yeeres my Lord.

916Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take

917An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;

918So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:

919For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,

920Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,

921More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,

922Then womens are.

923Vio. I thinke it well my Lord.

924Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,

925Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:

926For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre

927Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre.

928Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:

929To die, euen when they to perfection grow.

931Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:

932Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;

933The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,

934And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,

935Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,

936And dallies with the innocence of loue,

937Like the old age.

938Clo. Are you ready Sir?

939Duke. I prethee sing. Musicke.

953Du. There's for thy paines.

954Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir.

955Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then.

956Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or

957another.

958Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee.

959Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the

960Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy

961minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constan-

962cie put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,

963and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes

964makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit

965Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,

966Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:

967Tell her my loue, more noble then the world

968Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,

969The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:

970Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:

971But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems

972That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule.

973Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir.

974Du. It cannot be so answer'd.

975Vio. Sooth but you must.

976Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,

977Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart

978As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:

979You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?

980Du. There is no womans sides

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 263

981Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,

982As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart

983So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.

984Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,

985No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,

986That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,

987But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,

988And can digest as much, make no compare

989Betweene that loue a woman can beare me,

990And that I owe Oliuia.

991Vio. I but I know.

992Du. What dost thou knowe?

993Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:

994In faith they are as true of heart, as we.

995My Father had a daughter lou'd a man

996As it might be perhaps, were I a woman

997I should your Lordship.

998Du. And what's her history?

999Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,

1000But let concealment like a worme i'th budde

1001Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,

1002And with a greene and yellow melancholly,

1003She sate like Patience on a Monument,

1004Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?

1005We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed

1006Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue

1007Much in our vowes, but little in our loue.

1008Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?

1009Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,

1010And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.

1011Sir, shall I to this Lady?

1012Du. I that's the Theame,

1013To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,

1014My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. exeunt

1017To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian.

1018Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,

1019let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly.

1020To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggard-

1021ly Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?

1022Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out

1023o'fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere.

1024To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and

1025we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir An-

1026drew?

1027An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.

1029To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my

1030Mettle of India?

1031Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's

1032comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the

1033Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe

1034houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know

1035this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close

1036in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes

1037the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling. Exit

1039Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once

1040told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come

1041thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of

1042my complection. Besides she vses me with a more ex-

1043alted respect, then any one else that followes her. What

1044should I thinke on't?

1045To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue.

1046Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey

1047Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes.

1048And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue.

1049To. Peace I say.

1050Mal. To be Count Maluolio.

1051To. Ah Rogue.

1052An. Pistoll him, pistoll him.

1053To. Peace, peace.

1054Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Stra-

1055chy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

1056An. Fie on him Iezabel.

1057Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagi-

1058nation blowes him.

1059Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,

1060sitting in my state.

1061To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye.

1062Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd

1063Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I

1064haue left Oliuia sleeping.

1065To. Fire and Brimstone.

1066Fa. O peace, peace.

1067Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after

1068a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my

1069place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my

1070kinsman Toby.

1071To. Boltes and shackles.

1072Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now.

1073Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,

1074make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance

1075winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:

1076Toby approaches; curtsies there to me.

1077To. Shall this fellow liue?

1078Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,

1079yet peace.

1080Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my

1081familiar smile with an austere regard of controll.

1082To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,

1083then?

1084Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast

1085me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech.

1086To. What, what?

1087Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse.

1088To. Out scab.

1089Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our

1090plot?

1091Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,

1092with a foolish knight.

1093And. That's mee I warrant you.

1094Mal. One sir Andrew.

1095And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole.

1096Mal. What employment haue we heere?

1097Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin.

1098To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate rea-

1099ding aloud to him.

1100Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her

1101very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her

1102great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand.

1103An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that?

1104Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes:

1105Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the im-

1106pressure her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my

1107Lady: To whom should this be?

1108Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all.

264 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

1109Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no

1110man must know. No man must know. What followes?

1111The numbers alter'd: No man must know,

1112If this should be thee Maluolio?

1113To. Marrie hang thee brocke.

1114Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lu-

1115cresse knife:

1116 With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth

1117sway my life.

1118Fa. A fustian riddle.

1119To. Excellent Wench, say I.

1120Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first

1121let me see, let me see, let me see.

1122Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?

1123To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?

1124Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may

1125command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is

1126euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction

1127in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall po-

1128sition portend, if I could make that resemble something

1129in me? Softly, M.O.A.I.

1130To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent.

1131Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee

1132as ranke as a Fox.

1133Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name.

1134Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre

1135is excellent at faults.

1136Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell

1137that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.

1138does.

1139Fa. And O shall end, I hope.

1140To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O.

1141Mal. And then I. comes behind.

1142Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might

1143see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before

1144you.

1145Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:

1146and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for e-

1147uery one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here fol-

1148lowes prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars

1149I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some

1150are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some

1151haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr

1152hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to in-

1153vre thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble

1154slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,

1155surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of

1156state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee

1157thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who

1158commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee

1159euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art

1160made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a ste-

1161ward still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to

1162touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter

1163seruices with thee, tht fortunate vnhappy daylight and

1164champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee

1165proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir

1166Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point

1167deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let

1168imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,

1169that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow

1170stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-

1171garter'd, and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, &

1172with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of

1173her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee

1174strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,

1175euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my

1176starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst

1177not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let

1178it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. There-

1179fore in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue

1180I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou

1181wilt haue me. Exit

1182Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pensi-

1183on of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

1184To. I could marry this wench for this deuice.

1185An. So could I too.

1186To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such ano-

1187ther iest.

1189An. Nor I neither.

1190Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher.

1191To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke.

1192An. Or o'mine either?

1193To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom

1194thy bondslaue?

1195An. Ifaith, or I either?

1196Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that

1197when the image of it leaues him, he must run mad.

1198Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him?

1199To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife.

1200Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark

1201his first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her

1202in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and

1203crosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile

1204vpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her dispo-

1205sition, being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it

1206cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil

1207see it follow me.

1208To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell

1209of wit.

1210And. Ile make one too. Exeunt.

1214Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue

1215by thy Tabor?

1216Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church.

1217Vio. Art thou a Churchman?

1218Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,

1219I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the

1220Church.

1221Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a

1222begger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Ta-

1223bor, if thy Tabor stand by the Church.

1224Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is

1225but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the

1226wrong side may be turn'd outward.

1227Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with

1228words, may quickely make them wanton.

1229Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir.

1230Vio. Why man?

1231Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with

1232that word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,

1233words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them.

1234Vio. Thy reason man?

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 273

1235Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,

1236and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue rea-

1237son with them.

1238Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for

1239nothing.

1240Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my con-

1241science sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for no-

1242thing sir, I would it would make you inuisible.

1243Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?

1244Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee

1245will keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are

1246as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Hus-

1247bands the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir cor-

1248rupter of words.

1249Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

1250Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the

1251Sun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the

1252Foole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mi-

1253stris: I thinke I saw your wisedome there.

1254Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with

1255thee. Hold there's expences for thee.

1256Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send

1257thee a beard.

1258Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for

1259one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is

1260thy Lady within?

1261Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir?

1262Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse.

1263Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring

1264a Cressida to this Troylus.

1265Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd.

1266Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a

1267begger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I

1268will conster to them whence you come, who you are, and

1269what you would are out of my welkin, I might say Ele-

1270ment, but the word is ouer-worne. exit

1271Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,

1272And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:

1273He must obserue their mood on whom he iests,

1274The quality of persons, and the time:

1275And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather

1276That comes before his eye. This isa practice,

1277As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:

1278For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;

1279But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit.

1281To. Saue you Gentleman.

1282Vio. And you sir.

1283And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur.

1284Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture.

1285An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours.

1286To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desi-

1287rous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

1288Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the

1289list of my voyage.

1290To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion.

1291Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vn-

1292derstand what you meane by bidding me taste my legs.

1293To. I meane to go sir, to enter.

1294Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we

1295are preuented.

1297Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine O-

1298dours on you.

1299And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel.

1300Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne

1301most pregnant and vouchsafed eare.

1302And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em

1303all three already.

1304Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to

1305my hearing. Giue me your hand sir.

1306Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice.

1307Ol. What is your name?

1308Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse.

1309Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,

1310Since lowly feigning was call'd complement:

1311y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth.

1312Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:

1313your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam.

1314Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,

1315Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me.

1316Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts

1317On his behalfe.

1318Ol. O by your leaue I pray you.

1319I bad you neuer speake againe of him;

1320But would you vndertake another suite

1321I had rather heare you, to solicit that,

1322Then Musicke from the spheares.

1323Vio. Deere Lady.

1324Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,

1325After the last enchantment you did heare,

1326A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse

1327My selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:

1328Vnder your hard construction must I sit,

1329To force that on you in a shamefull cunning

1330Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?

1331Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake,

1332And baited it with all th'vnmuzled thoughts

1333That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing

1334Enough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,

1335Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake.

1336Vio. I pittie you.

1337Ol. That's a degree to loue.

1338Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe

1339That verie oft we pitty enemies.

1340Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:

1341O world, how apt the poore are to be proud?

1342If one should be a prey, how much the better

1343To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?

1345The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:

1346Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,

1347And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,

1348your wife is like to reape a proper man:

1349There lies your way, due West.

1350Vio. Then Westward hoe:

1351Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:

1352You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me:

1353Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me?

1354Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are.

1355Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you.

1356Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am.

1357Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be.

1358Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?

1359I wish it might, for now I am your foole.

1360Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?

1361In the contempt and anger of his lip,

1362A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,

1363Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone.

1364Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring,

1365By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,

1366I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride,

Z Nor

266 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

1367Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:

1368Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,

1369For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:

1370But rather reason thus, with reason fetter;

1371Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better.

1372Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,

1373I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,

1374And that no woman has, nor neuer none

1375Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone.

1376And so adieu good Madam, neuer more,

1377Will I my Masters teares to you deplore.

1378Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue

1379That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue. Exeunt

1382And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer:

1383To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason.

1384Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir An-

1385drew?

1386And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the

1387Counts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:

1388I saw't i'th Orchard.

1389To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that.

1390And. As plaine as I see you now.

1391Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward

1392you.

1393And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me.

1394Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of

1395iudgement, and reason.

1396To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before

1397Noah was a Saylor.

1398Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,

1399onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,

1400to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:

1401you should then haue accosted her, and with some excel-

1402lent iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd

1403the youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your

1404hand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this oppor-

1405tunitie you let time wash off, and you are now sayld into

1406the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang

1407like an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do re-

1408deeme it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or

1409policie.

1410And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for

1411policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politi-

1412cian.

1413To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of

1414valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him

1415hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,

1416and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,

1417can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,

1418then report of valour.

1419Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew.

1420An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?

1421To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:

1422it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of

1423inuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou

1424thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as ma-

1425ny Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the

1426sheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in Eng-

1427land, set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle e-

1428nough in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,

1429no matter: about it.

1430And. Where shall I finde you?

1431To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.

1433Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby.

1434To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand

1435strong, or so.

1436Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le

1437not deliuer't.

1438To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on

1439the youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes

1440cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd

1441and you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the

1442foote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th'anatomy.

1443Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no

1444great presage of cruelty.

1446To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes.

1447Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your

1448selues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is tur-

1449ned Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian

1450that meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer

1451beleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in

1452yellow stockings.

1453To. And crosse garter'd?

1454Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a

1455Schoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murthe-

1456rer. He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,

1457to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,

1458then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the

1459Indies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hard-

1460ly forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will

1461strike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great

1462fauour.

1463To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.

1467Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,

1468But since you make your pleasure of your paines,

1469I will no further chide you.

1470Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire

1471(More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,

1472And not all loue to see you (though so much

1473As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)

1474But iealousie, what might befall your rrauell,

1475Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,

1476Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue

1477Rough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,

1478The rather by these arguments of feare

1479Set forth in your pursuite.

1480Seb. My kinde Anthonio,

1481I can no other answer make, but thankes,

1482And thankes: and euer oft good turnes,

1483Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:

1484But were my worth, as is my conscience firme,

Twelfe Night, or, What you will. 267

1485You should finde better dealing: what's to do?

1486Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne?

1487Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging?

1488Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night

1489I pray you let vs satisfie our eyes

1490With the memorials, and the things of fame

1491That do renowne this City.

1492Ant. Would youl'd pardon me:

1493I do not without danger walke these streetes.

1494Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,

1495I did some seruice, of such note indeede,

1496That were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd.

1497Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people.

1498Ant. Th offence is not of such a bloody nature,

1499Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrell

1500Might well haue giuen vs bloody argument:

1501It might haue since bene answer'd in repaying

1502What we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sake

1503Most of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,

1504For which if I be lapsed in this place

1505I shall pay deere.

1506Seb. Do not then walke too open.

1507Ant. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,

1508In the South Suburbes at the Elephant

1509Is best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,

1510Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge

1511With viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me.

1512Seb. Why I your purse?

1513Ant. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toy

1514You haue desire to purchase: and your store

1515I thinke is not for idle Markets, sir.

1516Seb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue you

1517For an houre.

1518Ant. To th'Elephant.

1519Seb. I do remember. Exeunt.

1522Ol. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:

1523How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?

1524For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.

1525I speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,

1526And suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,

1527Where is Maluolio?

1528Mar. He's comming Madame:

1529But in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam.

1530Ol. Why what's the matter, does he raue?

1531Mar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your La-

1532dyship were best to haue some guard about you, if hee

1533come, for sure the man is tainted in's wits.

1534Ol. Go call him hither.

1536I am as madde as hee,

1537If sad and merry madnesse equall bee.

1538How now Maluolio?

1539Mal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho.

1540Ol. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion.

1541Mal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:

1542This does make some obstruction in the blood:

1543This crosse-gartering, but what of that?

1544If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true

1545Sonnet is: Please one, and please all.

1546Mal. Why how doest thou man?

1547What is the matter with thee?

1548Mal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my

1549legges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shall

1550be executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romane

1551hand.

1552Ol. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?

1553Mal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee.

1554Ol. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, and

1555kisse thy hand so oft?

1556Mar. How do you Maluolio?

1557Maluo. At your request:

1558Yes Nightingales answere Dawes.

1559Mar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous bold-

1560nesse before my Lady.

1561Mal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ.

1562Ol. What meanst thou by that Maluolio?

1563Mal. Some are borne great.

1564Ol. Ha?

1565Mal. Some atcheeue greatnesse.

1566Ol. What sayst thou?

1567Mal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them.

1568Ol. Heauen restore thee.

1569Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stock-

1570ings.

1571Ol. Thy yellow stockings?

1572Mal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd.

1573Ol. Crosse garter'd?

1574Mal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so.

1575Ol. Am I made?

1576Mal. If not, ler me see thee a seruant still.

1577Ol. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse.

1579Ser. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count

1580Orsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he

1581attends your Ladyships pleasure.

1582Ol. Ile come to him.

1583Good Maria, let this fellow be look d too. Where's my

1584Cosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall care

1585of him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe of

1586my Dowry. exit

1587Mal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worse

1588man then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres direct-

1589ly with the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I may

1590appeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that in

1591the Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be oppo-

1592site with a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tongue

1593langer with arguments of state, put thy selfe into the

1594tricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe the

1595manner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slow

1596tongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.

1597I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me

1598thankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fel-

1599low be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my

1600degree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,

1601that no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no

1602obstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: What

1603can be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene

1604me, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,

1605is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

Z2 To.

268 Twelfe Night, or, What you will.

1607To. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If all

1608the diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfe

1609possest him, yet Ile speake to him.

1610Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?

1611How ist with you man?

1612Mal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:

1613go off.

1614Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;

1615did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue

1616a care of him.

1617Mal. Ah ha, does she so?

1618To. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must deale

1619gently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?

1620How ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,

1621he's an enemy to mankinde.

1622Mal. Do you know what you say?

1623Mar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, how

1624he takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd.

1625Fab. Carry his water to th'wise woman.

1626Mar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morning

1627if I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ile

1628say.

1629Mal. How now mistris?

1630Mar. Oh Lord.

1631To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe

1632you not see you moue him? Let me alone with him.

1633Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend

1634is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd.

1635To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y^u chuck?

1636Mal. Sir.

1637To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for

1638grauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul

1639Colliar.

1640Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette

1641him to pray.

1642Mal. My prayers Minx.

1643Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godly-

1644nesse.

1645Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe

1646things, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more

1647heereafter. Exit

1648To. Ist possible?

1649Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could con-

1650demne it as an improbable fiction.

1651To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the

1652deuice man.

1653Mar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,

1654and taint.

1655Fa. Why we shall make him mad indeede.